RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition. He does have an amazing PATREON, but also *normal* ARTIST WEBSITE too.

Tuesday, April 8

12-Pack Review: JAPW 10/12/01

BEER ONE: 12-Pack Wrasslin’ Tape Reviews are hard work, as it’s late and I’m lazy and tomorrow is Labor Day and I should get a good night’s sleep to go take the fuckin’ pathetic dogs to the river and throw a stick for a while for them, but you know what? I’m not that responsible. Oh well, fuck it; in fact, mother fuck it. Jersey All-Pro Wrestling is on deck, and they think they’re the shit and part of that lightweight Puerto Rican northeastern movement that all the kids have gone gaga over for the last few years. I hope this is in that creepy little building that I saw JAPW in on that Fox news special or whatever. That rocked, it looked somebody’s grandpa’s basement with the wood paneling on the wall, except people were getting all gouged up with barbed wire. I WILL KILL BEER! I AM NOT AFRAID OF BEER! BEER IS AFRAID OF ME! I tell myself this from time to time to stay up. Some slut is walking up steps. Man, we saw the bluegrass in the park today in Scottsville, and let me tell you what, there were some fine-looking country hippie young slutlets about. I was freakin’ on one girls’ tits underneath a white tank top with no bra. Plenty of girls like that country hippie style don’t wear bras or panties, and they have tattoos on their lower back, or better yet, their arms. Girls with tattoos on their arms are sexy. Big-tittied girl in white tank top, I also got a panty shot, which is the benefit of staring at chicks for way too much during an afternoon of drinking beer in public while Old Crow Medicine Show plays. They were very good, fast like bluegrass should be, since it is the thrash metal of country music. Slow bluegrass is shitty bluegrass, and the first band suffered from that. College kids should lay off the bluegrass unless they also like metal, then go for it. Usually, college town kids only play good bluegrass if they’re recovering from heroin addictions. The Jersey All-Pro venue is Grandpa’s basement, like I hoped, but it looks more like Grandpa’s VFW. There’s mad flags all over, as this is post-people running planes into shitty buildings in shitty New York City. JAPW’s crowd seems to consist of the normal alienated video-gaming teenagers who should be getting drunk and doing acid instead of watching people fake fight. Kids these days, they think they’re so hard when they’re really a bunch of degenerate pussies. Sluts are great. Whoever thought of sluts was a smart man. And whoever thought to put sluts in wrestling rings, just to stand around and look like a slut, that guy’s okay enough I guess. I don’t know though, the mixing of sex and violence creeps me out unless it’s an Exploited song, and usually sluts in wrestling rings get powerbombed through flaming tables or some shit. People are in the ring and talking and stuff and I’m having a hard time caring. Can’t somebody get set on fire? It’s weird, I hate New Jersey not because of any given reason, just the overall air about it. And this is very Jersey. It’s one of those things I can’t put my finger on, but I can tell when somebody’s from New Jersey. It’s not even a Northern thing. I loved upstate New York and Rhode Island and Maine and shit; but Jersey, I don’t know, I guess it’s just the antithesis of my dumbass. The little dude is Dixie and his comrades are the Hit Squad, and they are talking mad shit about The Insane Dragon. Dixie is very small and goofy looking, so I hope he breaks his neck trying to do things he shouldn’t be trying. “That’s what your ol’ lady said, when I fucked her hole.” Ahh, nothing like family entertainment, as there’s a little girl dressed up like a slut standing there while dude says that shit. Dixie’s valet is very dogfart movieish looking. Dixie is the bad kid who rode the motorbike on the Bad News Bears and I bet he beat dogfart movie girl at air hockey to get her to be his valet. This is why sports entertainment sucks. I am watching a wrestling show, and for twenty minutes now, people have been talking. Fuck this. If you wanna be a heel, do it the old-fashioned way, and earn it. People only care about this shit because they’ve been trained to, not because it moves them. If they had somebody fuckin’ wrestling in there, goddamn, maybe they’d shut the fuck up in the crowd and stop trying to do chants and shit. Wrestling has become a frat party for high school dropouts. Hey, music started playing and they put their mic down, so maybe something will actually happen involving people pretending to fight each other. I do dig the little girl talking shit to The Hit Squad; there’s nothing better than shit-talking kids at wrestling shows, though they usually grow up to get lots of black eyes. Oh well, we’re all predestined for our proper spots in life. Your ref is one of the kids from Dazed and Confused, they call him Hanson. A goofy guy looking like Mikey Whipwreck in a satin jacket that says JAPW (the true sign your indy is a cult, the satin jacket) comes out; he is named Rick Silver and I can already imagine he sucks. YES! IT’S MAGIC! The large black man with the weird unnecessary mask that doesn’t hide his hefty goatee or dreadlocks. I watched this man take unprotected chairshots in a bar on a Sunday afternoon one time, so that makes me happy. I will drink beer to tie the two memories together, then and now; Dylan Thomas would be proud. Magic is great in a Bad Leroy Brown as a simple country babyface sort of way; he’ll never be the Junkyard Dog, but he certainly could be good enough to hold a TV title or two. Magic is having a tough time of it, probably because his big ass is the only one in this match that can bump. Ahh, another chair to the face, unprotected; it seems to be a recurring them in the big man’s life. Silver is KO-ed by Dixie and his title belt, so Magic covers for the unexplainable pin. A big black man in a mask who calls himself Magic and comes out to “Jungle Boogie” is okay by me, always. HAHAHA! The Gangstas music comes on, and out comes a fat white guy in a white t-shirt with frayed sleeves and a trash can in tow. Calla-jack, the fat white New Jack. This rocks.

BEER TWO: A fat lethargic and completely unathletic white guy pretending to be New Jack…well never mind that thought of admiration as Magic just sort of hurt the white guy. God Bless Magic, who does a Ho Train for the victory. Two wins in one night, not bad. He dances in celebration, as all black wrestlers who come out to “Jungle Boogie” have done since 1992. And Rick Silver pulls down his straps to do the white man trying to get jiggy gimmick afterwards as well. Everything in life is so predictable. Dave Grecco comes out next, and he is obviously a giant Steve Corino fan. Guys who blatantly steal another worker’s style is so pitiful, because 99 times out of 100, you come off as a shittier version of the guy you’re trying to emulate. I’d rather be a shitty original than a decent copy. And lucky for me, I am a shitty original. Fuck, it’s the ultimate mixed blessing. On the plus side, Dirty Don Montoya comes out, and I love the big, crazy latino. But his sidekick is Feinstein, in full gay apparel, giant pink wings and pink boa and exposed thong underwear. Rob Feinstein sucks because it’s really okay to be gay, but fucks like him waste space on earth and are so fuckin’ annoying that the rest of us, who can’t think of any other way to try and insult him, have to resort to fag-bashing. If it wasn’t for shitty closeted gays who can’t be honest with themselves and proud of what they are, gays wouldn’t catch so much shit. If I was a gay guy, I’d throw car battery acid in the face of Rob Feinstein. But I’m a regular guy, so I just get sidetracked by tits in white tank tops instead. I don’t understand as both Grecco and Montoya are playing heels, yet they’re doing the lock-up tease and armbar deals for the beginning of a scientific match. This whole post-ECW abandonment of normal heel/face structure sucks. It leaves me unmotivated to care, and I have enough of that to deal with genetically. Montoya is made for Mexico, being a big guy who can do some pretty limber moves, but he still needs to catch a breath from time to time. He is ready-made for the trios, and genetically made for Pierroth’s army. Grecco is not too bad; if he could cut back on the blatant biting of Corino style, he’d be alright. Montoya just executed the purposely most shittiest Worm rip-off ever; and then Grecco clocked a belly-to-belly on Montoya, which is not unimpressive. Feinstein gets on the apron to distract the ref, yet all that happens is normal honest wrestling with Montoya hitting his sitdown chokeslam powerbomb thing, with no cheating going on. Why would you have a shitty guy get on the apron to distract the ref and not have cheating? Man, this is the most discombobulated match I’ve ever watched. THERE IS A SLUT IN THE CROWD WHO IS LETTING THE WRESTLERS SIGN HER JEANS ON THE UPPER THIGH POST-MATCH! God Bless Pussy.

BEER THREE: Skinhead Ivan, a Nazi gimmick. Of course this happens in New Jersey, because, believe it or not, your highest membership of the Ku Klux Klan for a state is New Jersey. I think Ohio is second. The skinhead is wearing a gas mask, which is a nice touch I guess. He’s doing Sieg Heils all over the place. His competition is Laithon, a black guy with blonde hair. Laithon looks like a drunk college town hip black guy who hangs out near campus and fucks white pussy for like 15 years in a row; you know the guy, every college town has a few. It’s perfect he’s fighting a skinhead, except in real life, the skinhead and the hip college town black guy would be at least tolerably cool with each other because they’d hang at the same tattoo parlor. Laithon reminds me of a Gen-X Bobo Brazil. This match is slow, lethargic, and terrible. What would normally take one step is taking two, but hopefully what would normally take ten minutes will only take five and I’ll make it back up in the end. All finishing moves have to be clever combos nowadays. If I was an indy wrestler, I’d do a thing where I had that old school chain up my boot, and I’d take it out and put it inside my elbow and slap a vicious headlock on the other guy, that would cause him to tap out in pain. A submission headlock; it’d be great. Skinhead Ivan won while I wasn’t caring. Hey, a guy who’s not fat or twelve years old comes out, and to “Kashmir” on top of that. I don’t like how fans feel they can talk shit to wrestlers and get away with it, like some chumpy kid is doing to Kid Kruel here. If I was an indy promoter, I’d encourage my wrestlers who were heels to smack the fuckin’ shit out of a kid talking shit every show. It’d make it more real. Kruel’s opponent is Chino Martinez and I think I saw Chino wrestle at that bar that Magic wrestled at, but I can’t be sure. I got lost in the World there, and returned just in time to see Kid Kruel have Chino tap out to some move. I also put duct tape on the sleeve of my New York Dolls record, as I can take the LP out of three sides right now. I need to do the same to my Ride the Lightning LP, but it’s in the stack of LPs that I’ve played in the last three months that are unfiled, and I don’t feel like going through them, because it’ll cause me to listen to eight or nine of them. Billy Reil is saying “screw you” to everybody in the business. He carries a mirror to the ring; that’s so cutting edge. Hanson Dazed & Confused boy has reffed every match so far. Reil’s opponent is Ghost Shadow, who looks to be a martial arts Nova-style android wrestler. The fucks in the crowd chant his name, so he must do flips. Reil is roughing up the ring announcer, to make himself hated, as he demands to be called Mr. Kiss My Ass. Hey, they’re actually wrestling; I hadn’t seen that yet tonight. They close the session with both going for a dropkick, then getting up face-to-face, showing how they are equals in so many ways, so let’s see what happens as fans. Hey, Reil pushed some shitty kid in the crowd, good, somebody’s listening to my suggestions. They’re having a decent enough match, but you know, something needs to be different. The problem with so much indy wrestling nowadays is that it’s interchangeable with seventeen other indy promotions. That is true of JAPW, at least what I’m watching tonight. Sure, it’s different guy, but it’s not different styles and match types and nothing gives any individual promotion it’s signature style. That’s what put ECW so over with people, because it was it’s own fuckin’ thing, nothing like it. Reil gets some interference from Feinstein, and then hits a wicked Death Valley Driver to partially paralyze Ghost Shadow and get the win. J.T. Jobber comes out with Rick Silver, and like Silver, looks like a Whipwreck wannabe. The opponent is Dixie, with mime face paint now, and that slut. This is for the Jersey State title. The crowd likes to chant “Little Dick” at Dixie, which is great considering most of the crowd came here after afterschool detention, including Dixie and his valet/slut.

BEER FOUR: Dixie won. Next match, Deranged comes out flipping on chairs and hurting himself. After watching this garbage, conceivably I could dig some self-destruction, but fuck, Deranged is probably some stupid kid who thinks Yngwie Malmsteen is the shit. The Exploited Child Elax is the good guy here, I think, and this is for the light heavyweight title, which means the under 17 title. These guys had to do their algebra homework before the match. There’s too much shit now where people go with the flow. I think wrestlers should tell each other backstage beforehand, “Hey, if I miss a move or am slow to do something, pop the fuck out of me in the mouth. It’ll be my fault, and I’ll fall to sell the punch, which should hurt anyways. I’ll do the same to you. Peace, bitch, and can I have one of your Coors Lights?” Deranged is spinning around during moves left and right; I imagine he’s all about some rollerblading. Deranged seems to be a really good backyard wrestler, which makes him a shitty for-real wrestler, but with a bit of style. I am biding my time till this tape is over. And being a great backyard wrestler in a shitty fed, Deranged wins. And he flips around for a bit, like any good former trampoline wrestler is adept at doing. All their replays are done ECW fancam style, and called “SUICIDAL REPLAY”. Fuck that, and fuck everybody trying to be the new ECW. Be the new whatever you can be. I would rather not masturbate for like four days, than go to see any of the shitty promotions running Viking Hall trying to recapture whatever it was that ECW had. Out comes the Hit Squad, and that little girl is there again. She smacks Monsta Mack, and her old dad stands in the way from The Hit Squad fucking her up. That rocks. I will drink to that. Maybe the sheer carnage of this last match will make up for part of the two hours of my life I wasted with JAPW. Insane Dragon is their opponent, and the story is he is partner-less, so we’ll see what sort of chicanery JAPW offers up to “sports entertain” me. Insane Dragon is twelve. Monsta Mack and Mafia are putting their shitty little tag titles on the line against the one guy. Dragon’s secret partner is Homicide, who is a New Jack wannabe. This is a terrible terrible wrestling card.

BEER FIVE: I really wanted to like this, I did. But it just hasn’t done anything for me. Insane Dragon looks like he’s twelve and has a fuckin’ bird chest, for Christ’s sake. How can I enjoy that? It’s like watching Puerto Rican bullies who failed seventh grade three years in a row beat up on the principal’s kid, who was unlucky enough to have the same PE class. And that don’t mean Public Enemy, baby. Hey, people do lucha dives and people get fucked up in the front row, but it’s too little too late from JAPW. They can go to hell for all I care. Then again, they’re already in hell. I’ve got a delicious cherry tomato sandwich awaiting this shit to end and me going in the next room for a late night snack. Homicide and Insane Dragon actually hit a few moves together, which is depressing. I was hoping one of them was done forever, by now. Well, I drank half of that beer and that match ended and I don’t care about it at all. Fuck New Jersey.

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